


An Uncomplicated Christmas

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss Whedon owns all.<br/>Rating: R<br/>Spoilers: Set post “Not Fade Away” and not comic book related. I’ve only read season 9 and two volumes of season 10. (I skipped season 8.)<br/>Summary: Sent on a mission to find yet another slayer, Buffy is stuck in Colorado, it’s Christmas, and it’s snowing. Buffy POV.<br/>A/N: Written especially for Gabrielle, Thia, Rhonda, and my brother, John, with special thanks to Jennifer for help with the Christmas song.<br/>Thank you to Gabrielle for beta-reading this fic for Seasonal Spuffy! :o)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gabrielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle/gifts).



_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_  
_Let your heart be light_  
_From now on,_  
_our troubles will be out of sight_

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_  
_Make the Yuletide gay,_  
_From now on,_  
_our troubles will be miles away._  
\--Ralph Blane

* * *

“Merry Christmas Eve to me.”

I roll my suitcase in the door to the cabin Giles rented for me and stomp my feet to get the snow off my boots. Pulling off one glove, I slam the door against the cold and blindly search for something resembling a light switch. Soft light from three small lamps around the small living room pours forth, and I take in the old but cozy-looking oversized grey sofa and a fireplace with a dark mantel made of large stones. 

I hang my heavy jacket on the coat rack, stuff both gloves into one pocket, tug off my boots, and hurry to the thermostat on socked feet, turning the heat to max.

Glorious heat! 

I pull my cell phone out of my purse and check the signal. Absolutely nothing. Now I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere outside of Denver, Colorado at Christmas with no way to contact anyone that I care about. Luckily, I texted Dawn at the airport tonight and let her know that I safely landed. 

Because the North American Slayer team is focused on an apocalypse at the Cleveland hellmouth and because I was in Texas on the way back to Rome with some book of magic that Giles needed in order to deal with the Immortal situation, I got stuck flying to Colorado to find another Slayer we just found out about. Apparently, she lives in the middle of nowhere. 

I sigh.

A kitchenette is tucked in the right corner of the living room. I open the fridge and find that Giles or someone called ahead and somehow got it stocked with a few of my favorites, including what looks like a lidded glass container full of chicken noodle soup, six precious cans of Tab, a carton of milk, and more containers full of other foodstuff that I plan to explore later. 

I grab the soup and a can of Tab and begin heating half the soup in a pot on one of the gas burners as I sip the soda. The heavenly smell of chicken broth soon fills the cabin, and when the liquid is almost bubbling, I fix myself a bowl, take my drink, and settle onto the surprisingly comfortable sofa. Then, I find myself alone with my thoughts as I sip the soup. 

Buffy alone with her thoughts is not always a good idea.

As usual, when I let myself slow down long enough, I think about how scattered around the world my friends are. 

Willow is in Australia, working with some witches to prevent a magical influx from overtaking Perth. Xander is in North Carolina visiting his parents for Christmas before he heads back to South Africa in the New Year. Dawn is safely ensconced in Rome with Giles who is making sure the Immortal stays in check. 

I really want us to all be together at some point, but I’m having trouble imagining that happening for at least another six months or longer. I miss how close we all were in Sunnydale even if there was a crisis of some supernatural variety seemingly every other week. 

Being alone at Christmas time and stuck in a snowy nowhere town also lends itself to nostalgia of the boyfriend variety. 

I know where Angel is. He’s in L.A., picking up the pieces after the Black Thorn situation and the subsequent supernatural battle. The California slayers are still talking about their part in the fray ad nauseam whenever I see them for training conferences or confer with them during phone consultations. Riley’s somewhere out there loving his demon-hunting job, his wife, and probably his 1.5 perfect kids. . . though I’m not sure what place kids would have in his line of work. With my two exes, at least I know where we stand. Having closure conversations with them really helped even if the closure wasn’t exactly what I expected it to be.

That leaves Spike. 

Nope, no closure there.

I’ve known he’s back for a few months now, but he hasn’t tried to contact me. Not once. Granted, I haven’t tried to reach out either, but Andrew said he didn’t want to see me, so I respected that boundary.

But emotionally, it really hurts, especially in moments of quiet. . . when I’m not completely busy with slayer duties and raising my sister. Spike and I built something in Sunnydale, and I really wish we had. . . .

Screw this.

I blink back tears.

I refuse to be weepy Buffy on Christmas Eve. 

Stowing my half full bowl of soup back in the refrigerator and taking one last sip of soda, I make a decision.

Rolling my bag into the tiny bedroom at the back of the cabin, I heft it onto the trunk at the base of the full sized bed and open it. Pulling out my bag of patrolling supplies, I smile. There may not be crowded city streets around here, but there are enough people back in the small town for there to be a graveyard. . . a rather large graveyard that I spied on my drive in, tombstones poking out of the powdery snow. If there’s a slayer here, there’s bound to be a vampire or two as well. 

But first, I also bring out the foot-tall fake Christmas tree that I bought in the crowded Denver airport. The branches are a bit mashed, but I take a few seconds to push them back into place. The tree has a small string of lights attached to it along with a small gold star and tiny permanently fixed ornaments. I plug in the tree by the bed and set up my bit of Christmas cheer on the wooden night stand. Blue, green, yellow, and red glowing dots pinprick the ceiling and walls. 

I smile again but broader this time.

There. 

It’s not a big Christmas tree like Mom, Dawn, and I used to decorate, but it’ll do. 

I unplug it again to prevent the cabin from burning down. My luck, the light strand would short out and burn the cabin down while I was out patrolling and then where would I be?

Snagging my bag of slaying goodies, I head to the cabin door and re-dress in my winter gear, this time putting up the hood on my coat. I loop the bag handle over one prong of the coat rack and pull out two stakes, tucking one in my boot and another up my sleeve. 

Yanking open the door, a gust of wind sweeps icy cold snowflakes into my adopted sanctuary. I peer up at the dark sky. Looks like I need a flashlight. I pull out the one I brought with me and flick it on before plunging into the night. 

* * * 

Okay, so tramping through a snowy winter night to get to a graveyard to maybe get in some patrolling. . . not the greatest idea I’ve ever had. 

I’m freezing, and I can’t feel my feet anymore. . . or my nose. Luckily, my fingers are warm because I’m keeping one hand in a pocket, switching out which one holds the flashlight.

California was *so* not like this, and I have new respect for Faith’s work in Cleveland. The only time it snowed in Sunnydale was when Angel almost. . . .

I shake my head. The whole point of going out was to *forget* about boyfriends past. 

Now I need to focus on surviving this weather and any vampires I might come across.

The metal gate to the cemetery hangs crookedly off its hinges, and I move it slowly to prevent squeaking. The snow has stopped falling for now, and the moonlight from the full moon is peeking through the snow clouds and the trees, illuminating the blanket of snow piled in dunes over all the graves. Somehow, there’s a peace and beauty to the untouched scene before me.

Only problem is. . . how am I going to find fresh graves with all the white stuff everywhere?

I frown.

And the ground is probably frozen. How do vamps crawl out of graves when the ground’s frozen? Do they even bury people when it’s winter like this? The other problem with doing most of my slayer time in southern California and Rome is that I don’t have a clue about the answers to these questions.

My boots make quiet clumping sounds in the built up snow, and I’m grateful that Dawn talked me into packing this particular pair as well as the coat and gloves. She said one can never be too prepared. Guess she was right. After all, we do travel all over the world.

I slip the more convenient stake into my hand and sweep the flashlight around, searching for who knows what sign of preternatural disturbance in the frozen wonderland.

I’m somewhere in the middle of my hunt when I almost stumble over a smaller headstone that’s completely hidden by the snow drifts. Catching myself on the waist high neighboring memorial, I feel a familiar tingle in the back of my neck. . . the tingle I only feel around vampires.

Yahtzee. Vampires: do not pass go. Hooray! 

Hey, I don’t care that my giddiness makes no sense.

I whirl and catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. The shadowy figure darts into the shadows of a thicker grouping of trees. 

Turning off my flashlight and gripping the stake, I focus my senses as Giles taught me long ago and locate the vamp crouching in an almost imperceptible space between the trunk of one of the older trees and a large but crumbling angel statue. 

I pretend to head toward the foliage just slightly to the left of the vampire, but at the last moment, I lunge at my target. 

My movement is a bit awkward in the snow, and my footing is off, so the vampire lands a kick to my chest, sending me flying back. I slip a little but regain my equilibrium in time to block another hit, grab the offender’s arm, and send him reeling to the side. 

He crashes into a tombstone, bending double, and as I seize him to fling his body back and stake him, he growls and spins, grabbing me by the hood and slamming me against a tree trunk. My hood falls back with the motion of my head, and my skull thumps into the bark. 

Moonlight shines in my face, but my attacker’s features remain cloaked in darkness. 

Barely fazed, I hold onto his arms like a gymnast on the rings and bring my legs up to push him away but then. . . 

“Buffy?”

The British accent is so recognizable that my heart skips a beat. I let my legs fall to the ground as he loosens his grip on my coat and steps away from me like I’m some sort of hot potato or burning object. Hurt flashes through me.

“Spike?” 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone jolting me back to times of old when he was a reluctant sidekick thanks to the government chip in his head. 

“I could ask you the same thing!” I can’t help the anger creeping into my voice. I adjust my hood back into place. If he’s going to stay in the dark where I can’t see him, I will, too.

In surprise, he answers with honesty, “I’m here to look up the local slayer. . . Name’s Gabrielle or something.”

“What? Why?” I’m genuinely confused and maybe. . . jealous. How is it possible that in the space of two seconds, Spike can make me feel a whole kaleidoscope full of emotions?

He sighs. “Because I was sent by the slayer crew in L.A. since they’re busy with whatever’s going on in Cleveland.” He raises his hand and waves it around. “You know, the quarterly apocalypse. Surprised you aren’t there.”

I can’t help myself, “Do you wish I was?”

He’s immediately defensive. “No, I don’t. What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“What do you think it means?” I cross my arms, my stake poking into my bicep.

He’s silent for a few seconds, almost like he’s trying to stop our burgeoning argument before we slip further into the familiar dance between us. “Let me guess. You’re here for the same reason.”

His change in direction gives me pause. “Maybe. Giles sent me last minute.” Well, Willow tried to contact me, but I was in Texas, so she left the message with Dawn who told Giles. So much for communication among the troops. That’ll need definite improvement in the upcoming year. 

“Rupert. Well, we didn’t get any calls from him. Heard about the slayer from. . . you know what? I don’t know where Andrew and Thia heard about this girl.”

Thia is the lead slayer in L.A., and she’s generally pretty organized. Somehow, I’m not surprised that Spike is working with them. Andrew said Spike wasn’t too keen on the whole Wolfram and Hart situation. I guess he had to land somewhere after the massive demon fight. I’m a little annoyed that Andrew didn’t tell me about Spike’s new role. He’s usually more than happy to lord information over the rest of us. . . and to over share. 

My arms relax. “Well, whatever happened, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he agrees.

I suddenly feel sort of self-conscious. “Merry Christmas to us. . . in this graveyard.”

“Frozen, bloody cold graveyard.” Amusement tinges his tone.

“What do vampires do when it snows like this?” 

“Apparently, the same things as slayers.” He heads toward the entrance to the cemetery, and I follow him, noting that he is wearing a heavier jacket than his usual duster. 

“What’s that?” 

“They stay indoors.”

I laugh. “Right.”

“Fancy crashing the local bar to ask for info?” He glances at me, but I can’t see his eyes. 

Do I want to do that? “Sure. Why not? It’s not like I have anywhere else to be. Plus, walking. . . moving in general is of the good. I’m freezing. There’s a bar?” Leave it to Spike to notice the bar. 

“Yeah. Got twinkly lights on it and everything. It’s where I left the car ‘bout half a mile away.”

“Think it’s a demon bar? With vampires?”

He snorts. “I doubt a town this size has its own Willy’s.”

He holds the cemetery gate open, and I breeze past him without touching him. I wish I had known who he was during our brief skirmish; I would have appreciated the touch more. “Can’t believe it’s open on Christmas Eve.”

He falls in step beside me, keeping pace with my speed walking. I have to attempt to get warm. . . or rather, warmer. “Trust me. In a town this size? The bar will be open come hell or high. . .”

“Snow?” I turn on the flashlight again.

He chuckles. 

After a few minutes of more companionable, less uncomfortable silence, I brave up and ask, “So how are you?” 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he doesn’t answer for a few minutes. “I’m good. Busy. It’s not easy keeping up with a passel of birds. . . all that slayer energy. And don’t get me started on the crazy one.”

I know all about what happened with Dana. “I remember that you did fine in Sunnydale when the house was overrun by teenaged girls.”

“Yeah. I hid in the basement when it got too noisy and couldn’t take a shower in peace unless they were outside with the drill sergeant in the backyard.”

“You helped me train them,” I remind him as memories and feelings flood my mind. 

His voice tells me that something similar is happening with him. “I guess I did at that.” 

Snow starts falling again, heavier this time. 

“Looks like we’re gonna be really stuck.” I mentally kick myself. That’s the second time I’ve referred to being here with Spike as something undesirable. 

He doesn’t seem to notice. . . at least not that he’s revealing. Obviously, we’re not in sync anymore because he’s not giving me much, which makes me feel sadder than I expected. 

“How have you been?” he asks.

I decide to make an effort, so I share, “Staying in Rome for the most part. Dawn is doing a combination of homeschooling and some sort of exchange program with the local school. Something about her being a refugee of Sunnydale earned her some sort of exceptions in the system. She’s learning Italian. . . well, that and various demon languages and loving all of it. Because Willow and Xander have been busy in other parts of the world, Giles is staying with us for a while because we needed help with the Immortal situation. I was originally going undercover to try to squeeze information out of him. . . .”

Spike slows for a half a beat and glances at me, and I can almost imagine his eyebrow lifting. 

“Sorry, poor choice of words.” I resume my high tempo pace and continue talking, “We went on a few dates until he figured out that I was just using him to get intel on some underground demon ring. Needless to say, he isn’t a happy camper. . . hasn’t been one for several months. Giles sent me to Texas to retrieve some mystical book that’s supposed to help bind the Immortal’s powers during some ritual that’s best performed by the light of the full moon after the Spring Equinox or something.”

“There’s a book?” He ignores what I’ve said about the Immortal. 

“Yeah, a book. . . a volume with a specific spell.” I take the plunge, “And by the way, I found out that you and Angel showed up in Rome. . . and didn’t even say hello!”

I wish more than anything I could see his expression. “I’m sorry, pet. . . I . . . we thought that. . . .”

“I was dating the Immortal? Stupid Andrew! Giles, Dawn and I decided not to tell him the truth because he would’ve spilled the beans.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Since I’m making a spectacle of myself, I may as well ask my next question.” I pause for effect. “Spike, why haven’t you ever contacted me about being back?” 

He’s apparently thought about this because he responds without hesitation, “Because when I burned up in that cavern, I thought that was it. Closure.” 

He’s silent for several seconds, and I wait because I sense that he has more to say. 

He fills the space, “I didn’t think you’d want the complication, and I sure as hell couldn’t top the way I went. . . not in your eyes. I wanted you to go and live your life. . . to be happy.”

My anger covers my hurt at his obviously rehearsed speech, and I react before I can stop myself, “Been there, done that.”

“What do you mean, pet?” His use of one of his usual nicknames makes hope sing through my heart despite my irritation. 

“Angel. You know. . . the whole breakup and resulting angst and staying away from one another except at key moments in our lives thing.”

“Our situation’s a bit more complicated.” He’s amused again, which pushes me to keep going.

“No, it’s not. . . not really.” I put my glove-covered hand on his coat-covered forearm, but despite the lack of skin touching skin, he halts in his tracks. I babble onward, spewing all my pent-up thoughts, “Do you honestly think that I cared so much about how you saved the world that I wouldn’t be glad. . . no, extremely happy. . . to see you again? I *wanted* to see you. You didn’t let me be there for *you* after all those times you were there for me, and Andrew said. . . he said you didn’t want to see me. I was trying to respect your space like you respected mine.”

“I thought you were dating the Immortal!”

“Not when you saw Andrew the first time!”

I barely make out his shoulders slumping in the dim luminance from the flashlight. “I can’t believe I said that to him. . . should have known sodding Andrew wouldn’t keep his trap shut. Thought maybe he had a screw loose since he was sucking pennies and pulling his vamp-ire act at Wolfram and Hart. Wish he were here so I could throttle him.”

“I don’t wish he were here.”

I deliberately shine the flashlight so that the beam is at an angle but still illuminates his face. I have to see him. 

Snow is falling all around him, and I blink past the white and tremble but not from the cold. He looks exactly the same. . . bleached blonde hair slicked back with one stray curl hanging over his forehead, carved cheekbones that I long to run my fingertips over, and blue eyes wide open with his emotions. 

Even if the feelings aren’t for me, I can’t help myself and throw my arms around his neck while standing on my toes. . . not an easy feat in the snow. He staggers a bit with my sudden weight, but his arms go tightly around my waist. I press my face into his neck, the only bare skin available and inhale his familiar scent, something I never thought I’d experience again. 

I only wish my coat was less poofy. 

“Stupid coat.” I comment into his chest, and I’m rewarded with another soft laugh. 

My hood has fallen back again, and I feel his cheek on the top of my head. “So. . .” 

“Spend Christmas with me?” 

“Sure, pet, but. . .”

I’m alarmed. What caveat is he going to put on this plan of mine? “I have a cabin that Giles rented for me and everything. You’re welcome to stay. . . unless you have somewhere to go.” Or someone else to be with.

“We have a slayer to find. And we’re almost there. Someone’s bound to know where she is. Town’s so small.”

I gaze up at his face, and he smiles at me and nods to his left. In the distance, I vaguely see what look like Christmas lights and a bright diamond-shaped sign shimmering between snowflakes. “Think they have heat?”

“Let’s hope so.” 

We move apart, but I make sure to squeeze Spike’s gloved hand with mine before separation occurs. He thankfully allows the touch, and together, we head toward the bar, twinkling lights, and warmth.


	2. Part Two

The inside of the bar smells and looks like Christmas. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and apple permeates the air, and I spy a large evergreen tree in one corner of the surprisingly large rectangular space. The tree is blanketed with mounds of silver tinsel, metallic red and green ornaments, and rainbow-colored lights. A gold star leans to one side atop the tree and glows ivory with tiny bulbs. 

Soft yellow Christmas lights line the ceiling of the room, sagging in places despite someone’s failed attempt to mount them in a straight line. The floor is dotted with kitschy-looking metal tables and chairs, each set a little different in size and shape than the next. A young couple rises from one of the tables in the back and heads toward a private room in the back where a sprig of mistletoe hangs from the doorframe. 

Cushion-covered metal stools poke up in front of the long, darkly-stained wooden bar on the opposite side of the room. A large wreath covered in red ribbon and pine cones hangs in the center of the rack that holds glasses above the bar. An upbeat and familiar Christmas song I can’t remember the name of softly plays in the background.

Spike shrugs off his coat as he enters and stands next to me. “Looks like Christmas tossed her cookies in here.” 

I smile for two reasons. One is that all the decorations make me feel a twinge of nostalgia for Christmas with Dawn, and the second is that I forgot how much I missed Spike’s offhand remarks. “Yeah. It does.” 

Spike makes eye contact with me for the first time in the bar’s low light, and no longer cloaked in shadows, his expression tells me that he at least has some feeling left for me. 

I emulate Spike’s actions and tug off my damp gloves and coat, shaking snow onto the ground. “And it’s warm. Can’t feel my hands. . . or my nose now.”

“Let’s get you a drink to warm you up,” he suggests. I make a face at him. He tilts his head in good humor. “I didn’t mean of the alcoholic variety. . . at least for you.”

The bartender calls to us then, “Don’t worry. Round here at this time of year? We have apple cider.”

“I’ll have that!” I settle onto one of the bar stools and plop my coat onto the seat beside me to drip melting snow onto the ground at my feet. “Spike?”

“I’ll have the same. Add rum to mine.” His leg brushes me as he sits down, and I shiver as a thousand tingles sweep over my body. He, of course, notices. “Cold, pet?” 

“Little bit.” I can’t resist and put my half-frozen hand on his. I’m startled to find that his hand feels warmer than mine. That’s a first. 

Spike jumps a little at my touch but takes my cue and covers my hand with his, rubbing my fingers and palm between his own and his jean-covered thigh. Oh boy, does that make my head spin. I haven't been touched like that in. . . I can’t remember how long. How lame am I?

Setting giant steaming mugs in front of us, the bartender, whose name is John according to his Christmas sticker-infested nametag, asks, “So where are you guys from?” 

Spike is faster than me, but his speech is slow and casual, “We’re from out of town. Live in separate parts of the world. Meet in the middle when we can.”

I reluctantly move my hands to the warm ceramic and pick up from Spike, “Long distance relationships are hard.”

Spike slides his arm around my shoulders, and he hugs me. I lean in and relish the touch. His body still feels familiar even after all these months apart, and I almost close my eyes. . . almost.

“So, why here? We’re sort of in the middle of nowhere.” John leans back on the counter behind him, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. 

How do I phrase this? “We know someone who lives here. She told us about this place, and I rented us a little cabin up the road. She said it would be a romantic place to spend the holiday. We’re not sure if she’s in town though.”

I take a sip of cider and delight in the feeling of the hot fluid running down my throat as Spike adds, “We’ve both been so busy that we didn’t get a chance to confirm her whereabouts before we came out here.”

I nod. “All we know is that she was either planning to stay here or go out of town to meet friends for the holiday.” Spike and I are proving to be good at this, and Spike doesn’t even seem like he’s lying, which is weird since he’s never been all that good at cover stories. . . at least, not with me.

John regards us thoughtfully. “What’s your friend’s name? Everyone knows everyone around here. Maybe I can help you find her.”

I don’t dare look at Spike as I say, “Her name’s Gabrielle.”

Spike reaches into his jeans pocket, and his arm briefly leaves me to unfold a small picture. What is he doing? That’s gonna look majorly weird. Who carries a photo of a “friend” around in his pocket? Spike follows through with it anyway, slipping the paper across the bar toward John. Mentally, I face-palm my head. “Here’s a photo.”

John doesn’t look deterred. He takes the crumpled picture and studies it for half a second. “Gabi? You’re friends with little Gabi?”

“Do you know her?” I ask. 

“Of course, I know her! Everyone here knows Gabi!”

“Great,” Spike says. He’s a tad overeager, and he tries to slow himself down by taking a swig of his rum-laced cider. “Where can we find her?”

John frowns. “Gabi moved to Cleveland two weeks ago.”

Bewilderment washes over me. What?! I sure hope I have my poker face on. “Oh, I. . . we forgot about that!” Well, that sucked.

Spike’s next words don’t help at all either, “Well, yeah.”

John puts both open palms on the bar and leans toward us, narrowing his brown eyes and whispering, “Who *are* you? And don’t lie. You don’t really know Gabi, do you?”

Spike pushes his stool back and stands. “Now, hold on there, mate. Don’t go accusing us of. . . .”

John’s eyes are worried now, and he puts his hands up in a defensive posture, glancing to the back of the room. “Careful. I want to help you, but you have to be qui. . .”

A small rustling from behind me catches my attention. I whip my head around as I see six. . . no, seven vampires threading their way around the tables from the back room. 

Spike gives me a look, his face set and ready just like the old days. I nod, slap one of my stakes against his palm and bend to pull the second out of my boot. 

With a roar, the first vamp launches himself at me, flannel-covered shirt un-tucked, face slipping into his vampire visage. He swings one arm at me, and I duck and sweep a leg so that he’s tripped up, thrown off by his missed punch and resulting stagger. He falls to the floor as a female vampire with long red hair flies at me, kicking me in the head. I stumble back but reach around for my mug of hot cider, which I throw in her face. She shrieks in pain and brings her hands up to see what the liquid has done. I brace my arms on the bar and return her kick with two of my own. . . one to her chin and one to her chest. As she flies back, I dip to plunge my stake into the first vamp’s heart. He explodes with a satisfying gush of dust. 

Meanwhile, Spike’s attacker has grabbed a table and is using it as a shield, so Spike spins and dusts the red-haired female. The vamp using the shield utters what can only be described as some sort of battle cry and charges Spike, pushing him into one of the walls. A string of Christmas lights falls off and dangles free, and the force of the table slamming into Spike’s arm leads him to drop his stake. The lost wood rolls under the bar. I vaguely see John drop to his knees to hunt around for it. His efforts are in vain, and he watches helplessly from the sidelines.

I shake off my fresh opponent and grab the shield-bearing vamp by one shoulder, jerk him back, and plunge my bit of wood into his heart. The table clatters to the floor, and I heft and swing it at the vampire behind me who has his baseball cap on backward and his belly hanging over the top of his jeans. We trade blows as Spike drops into a roll behind me to avoid two vampires who are chasing after him. From behind me, I hear the Christmas tree crash to the floor, glass ornaments shattering and wood cracking. As I’m staking my out-of-shape vamp, I hear Spike shouting my name before a recognizable sound signals that another vampire is dead.

I whirl to make sure Spike is okay, and brandishing a giant Christmas tree branch that’s still covered in silver tinsel, he gives me a little grin before taking on another adversary. He loves this brawl, and I have to admit, it’s kind of nice to be fighting alongside him again. We end up back to back while the final two vampires stalk around us. They really don’t know who they’re up against. 

As if he read my mind, the remaining teenaged male vampire with curly black hair, fair skin, and freckles asks, “Who *are* you?” 

His female companion speaks for him, “Obviously, a slayer, but why is a vampire fighting *with* her?” She’s somehow found Spike’s lost stake. 

“Well, pet, should we tell them who we are?” Spike asks, aiming his query at me instead of answering the enemy vampires’ questions.

I hardly pause, “Nah. Not worth it. Great job improvising with the Christmas tree.”

“Gotta work with what I’ve got.” The female vampire raises her weapon and charges Spike. I hear him deftly block her attempted blows.

I study my target. He looks really young and innocent for his age. . . almost too young to stake. I continue speaking with Spike, “Forgot you were good at that.”

“Almost as good as you.”

The imp ignores our conversation and tries to start one of his own with me as he attempts to hit me with a right hook. “You know, it’s really annoying when strangers come to our town during the holidays. You’ve pretty much ruined my Christmas by killing all my friends.”

I easily dodge his attempted swipe, but he also evades mine. I decide to ask, “So, did you guys kill Gabrielle, or did she move to Cleveland?”

The teen snorts. “No, Gabi was my girlfriend. I wanted to make her like me. I got turned because she and I were. . .” 

He grunts as I land a well timed and very hard hit to his jaw. He reels two steps back and rubs his cheek, wiggling his lower jaw. “Ouch.”

Then, I stake him. I spin to look for Spike and find him tree-branch-less and trying to hold the female vamp in place with the fallen string of Christmas lights tight around her neck. I’m so not sure how he ended up in that position, but I run forward, dodging her flailing arms and piercing her heart. 

Spike sags forward as the vampire dissipates. He tosses aside the strand of lights. “Thanks, pet.”

“Any time. Guess you were right.” I scrutinize him. He appears to be intact. Relief washes over me. I notice him surveying me in the same way, and he gives me a small smile.

He cocks his head to one side. “About what?”

“Snow. Vampires. Inside.”

His laughter warms me, and then, he turns in the direction where we last saw our frightened bartender. He rounds the bar and helps the cowering man up. “So, John, explain yourself.”

John meets both of our eyes. “T-thank you. You don’t know how bad it got after Gabi left town. I didn’t even know vampires existed until her boyfriend showed up one night, demanding a drink. I couldn’t serve him; he’s underage. . . well, he was.”

I cross my arms. “So did Gabrielle actually leave for Cleveland?”

John takes a deep breath. “Look. Gabi is like my little sister. She lived next door to me when we were growing up, and I used to babysit her. She was smart as a whip. Her mom died, and her dad worked out of town a lot, and she’d come to work with me, hang out in the back, and do her homework. She just graduated high school. And yes, she left for Cleveland. I drove her to the airport and met the girl who flew here just to fly back with her, too.”

“What girl?” I inject. 

“Her name was Faith. Dark hair. Petite. . . super ho. . . er, sassy.” John seems embarrassed at his slip.

Spike and I exchange glances, and he raises an eyebrow at me. So Gabrielle is in Cleveland? I’m extremely confused now. 

“So when did the vampires show up?” Spike asks.

John nods as if he expected the question. “Only recently. Gabi’s boyfriend, Desmond, was the last one you. . .” 

“Staked,” I supply for him.

“Right. Staked. He got bit. . . transformed when he and Gabi were out late. He was walking her home from the bar. It wasn’t quite winter yet. . . at least, we hadn’t had a good freeze. Gabi was really freaked out but managed to get away. The vampires converted a couple of other people in town, but they stayed away for a while for some reason. Gabi. . . she didn’t know what happened to Desmond and she didn’t know that when she left, they would become bolder. They’ve been hanging out at the bar and getting free drinks since she left. They left me alone because they wanted the option of drinking my customers should the opportunity arise. There wasn’t much I could do.” He pauses. “You know, you’re really strong for a girl. And Gabi. . . about a year and a half ago, she got really strong, too. Does that have anything to do with the vampires showing up and why she went to Cleveland?”

“Probably to both your questions. I’m sorry, John. This must be so confusing.” I’ve heard this tale since we’ve been finding slayers all over the world. . . the mysterious increase in strength, the sudden appearance of vampires. It’s almost like the vamps are drawn to the slayers. Yet another instance where the plan I came up with to save the world has had terrible consequences for innocent people. “Do you know if there are more of them in town?”

John shakes his head. “As far as I know, you and your friend got them all. Thank you.”

Spike, who’s been listening, comments, “Sorry about your place.” He rights a table that has been flung aside and picks up his coat, which has fallen on the floor by the bar. 

John sounds completely sincere, “It’s fine. I’m just glad to be rid of them. Is Gabi a slayer like. . . her?” He waves a hand in my direction.

Spike dons his jacket. “She is, and she’s in good hands now. Faith runs the Cleveland outfit, and she’ll do right by your girl.”

“If you want, when I get a signal back on my cell, I’ll call Faith and check on her for you,” I offer, emulating Spike’s movements to prepare to leave. 

“I’d like that.” John turns to the cash register and scrolls out a blank piece of receipt paper. He scribbles his number on it, which I stuff in my pocket. “Let me know?”

“I promise.” 

Spike puts his hand on the small of my back. “Going to get some stuff out of the car. Can’t exactly drive it to that cabin of yours with the snow covering the roads.”

“So. . . you’re staying with me?” I almost forgot he never answered my earlier question.

He gazes at me with hope in his eyes. “If you’ll have me.”

My only answer is my smile. 

“Hold on a minute.” John jingles what sounds like a set of keys. “I have a truck and snow tires, and I’m closing up. Want a ride?” 

I can’t take my eyes off of Spike, and I try hard to read the emotion in his expression. His eyes are less naked to me now, but the feelings are still there. I’m just not sure whether he feels as unresolved as I do. “That’d be great.”

Spike takes my offered hand as John leads the way out the door. We have a lot to talk about, but for now, I’ll take his. . . friendship. 

As if he’s just realized something, John asks one final question as we follow him back into the cold, “So, you’re a vampire. Why *are* you fighting other vampires?”

Spike chuckles. “Long story, mate.”

* * *

“Why do you have so much stuff?” 

John’s taillights are a soft red glow in the distance, and Spike and I are juggling a suitcase, a cooler, and a giant cardboard box. Well, I’m carrying the box, and it’s not heavy, but it’s awkward. I fumble with numb fingers for the keys to the cabin, which are wedged in my jacket pocket. Apparently, jacket and gloves that are wet with melted snow combined with sweat from a fight equals freezing my ass off in winter weather. I didn’t put the gloves back on, so my hands are numb again. At least, the snow has stopped falling.

Spike tries to balance his overnight bag and the cooler in one hand, and his hand brushes mine as he helps me disentangle the keys. “Didn’t know how long I’d be here so had to have weapons, change of clothes, blood. I also didn’t know there would be no place to stay in this sodding dump. They plan for a lot of things in L.A. but not that. I have to fend for myself.”

I fumble with the key in the lock. “Good thing the windows in your car are blacked out in case you needed to sleep there. What’s in the box?”

“Something Andrew told me to give to Gabrielle. I haven’t really looked inside.”

“Oh.” Now I’m really curious. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t.” I push the door open and relish the burst of hot air that invades the icy cold outside. I may have unplugged my Christmas tree, but I left the heat on.

“Honestly? I wasn’t that interested. You know how many of these missions I’ve been on in the past six or seven months? Thia always has me delivering something or other to the little girls. She’s a mother hen even though she’s only nineteen.” He pauses in the living room, setting down his bag. “Actually, she reminds me a bit of Joyce.”

Okay, so that jealous feeling? It’s back. I wasn’t exactly the maternal type with the slayers-in-training in Sunnydale, but Dawn says I’ve gotten better since Sunnydale. Hey, I know everyone’s name now, and there are a lot of names. Shaking my head and wanting to avoid acknowledging my jealousy, I decide to try changing the conversation’s direction, “I miss Mom. The holidays make me miss her more.” I don’t want to dive into sentiment too fast, so I move to the basics, “It’s still cold.” 

Spike notes my shivering. “I’ll make a fire. Is there any wood?”

“Yeah. I noticed a pile under the tarp on the front porch.” I tuck the box into a corner. The cabin really is tiny. “I’m going to change into something. . . well, dry. Want me to heat you up some blood?”

I could use some. Thanks.” With that, he heads back into the cold.

I virtually scamper into the bedroom, lightly shut the door, and smile at the Christmas tree. I peel off my cold, wet clothes and ruffle around in my suitcase for my coziest green sweater, yoga pants, and fuzzy socks. Don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. I glimpse myself in the small wood-framed mirror propped up on top of the short bureau. There are dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep during all my travelling, and my hair is damp, the waves somewhat flattened, but my green eyes are bright and somehow more alive than they’ve been in a long while. 

Spike is coming back in with an armful of logs when I burst out of the bedroom, and in the soft lamplight, he stops and studies me. 

My heart skips a beat, and I wonder if he can hear it. “What?” 

“I never imagined this.”

My alarm grows. One hand goes to my hair and the other moves self-consciously around the bottom of my sweater. “Do I look funny?”

He shakes his head at me. “No. You look. . . fine. . . better than fine. I never imagined being here with you. Just the two of us.”

My mind flashes to Sunnydale and the abandoned house where we curled up together for the first time and slept the exhausted sleep of soldiers who had crossed the emotional battlefield together. I honestly didn’t realize the extent of how much I missed him until this moment. “Me either.” 

He breaks the contact first, crossing the room and squatting in front of the fireplace. As he arranges the wood, I take the cooler and head into the kitchen nook to prepare food for us. Luckily, there are two pots, and I pour the leftover soup from my bowl in the fridge into one and pour blood from a thermos into the other. As the food stuff is starting to simmer on the burners, I add Spike’s four thermoses of blood to the refrigerator next to my lonely cans of Tab on the second shelf. Then, I return to the pots, stirring the contents each with a wooden spoon and losing myself in the movement. 

The blood and soup are slowly beginning to steam when Spike shows up in my peripheral vision. I glance over and see that he’s changed into a plain black t-shirt and jeans. He leans against the tiny entry way with his hands in his pockets and watches me. 

“Smells good.” 

Right away, my senses become aware of the smell of wood burning and hear the crackle of flames. “You got the fire going.”

“Yeah.” He slips behind me to snag a mug and fresh bowl from the open cabinet on the wall. “Thanks for heating this up.” Using a towel, he grasps the pot handle and pours his blood into the cup. 

“You’re welcome.” I move the bowl closer to the stove and fill it almost to the brim with the chicken noodle.

He’s standing so close that I find myself holding my breath. Even though there’s no actual physical contact involved, this seems so much more intimate than touching him in the dark with our coats on or holding his hand in public.

He slips a clean spoon into the broth in my hand and moves away to sit on the sofa, legs splayed. Is he that much more laid back about this than me? 

I follow him and choose a position on the opposite end of the couch, my legs tucked close to me. We eat in silence for a few minutes, and between the fire and the soup, my insides feel warm again. The fire pops as the wood burns, but a tiny screen prevents flame-y pieces from flying out and catching anything or anyone on fire.

Spike breaks the quiet first, “You know, pet, I’m still confused about what happened.”

I glance at him and then back at the fire. “What do you mean?” 

“How we ended up here, hunting down the same slayer at the same time. . . a slayer that isn’t even here.”

Cradling my bowl in my hands, I say, “Me, too. It doesn’t make any sense at all. I heard about it third hand. . . or was it fourth hand? Willow told Dawn who told Giles on my end.”

“And Thia told Andrew on her way to Cleveland.” 

I shrug. “I guess we won’t find out what happened until we get cell service back. May as well enjoy the break.” I snuggle down into the comfortable cushions. “This is nice.”

He slouches back, emulating my stance. “You’re right. Haven’t had a break in. . . well, I haven’t had a break at all. . . not since I became corporeal again. And even then, I wasn’t. . . .” He trails off, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.

When he doesn’t, I ask, “What was it like to be a ghost?”

“It wasn’t fun. Almost got sucked into hell, and I couldn’t touch anything. Couldn’t leave the bloody city.” His eyes find mine. “And you know me, I’m tactile. . . have to touch things, get in there and do something, rough someone or something up, but I couldn’t. . . not at first.”

I can’t imagine Spike stuck in a mode where he can’t touch anything. It makes me want to touch him now, and I draw on my courage, set aside my empty bowl, and scoot closer to him. “You must have felt so helpless.”

Spike stares into the fire. “And when I became corporeal again, I stuck around. Helped Angel and his crew out when I wasn’t antagonizing them, and then, after we ended up surviving the fight with the Black Thorn and the demon army, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Don’t think any of us did. I’m still figuring it out.”

“I can relate to that. . . and not just the demon hordes thing. I haven’t exactly known what to do with myself since Sunnydale. It’s been hard with everyone so spread out, and being one of hundreds of slayers? It’s a good thing, but I am realizing that I need to figure out what I want to do with my life. I mean, I have a mission, sort of, but that’s only part of me.” 

Spike finds my hand and laces his cool fingers through mine. “Sorted it out yet?”

I squeeze his hand. “Not yet, but I’m starting to figure out that the figuring it out isn’t going to stop. . . probably for my whole life. And I’m kinda okay with that.”

He laughs. “Lived over a hundred years, and I’m still sussing things out, too.” 

I continue before my fears can stop me, “And you know what? I thought I had to have it all figured out before I. . .” How do I say this next part without invoking that cookie metaphor that I’ll never live down? “I thought I had to know exactly who I was before I was with someone else. . . like genuinely with someone else.”

“Ah, I heard about that.” 

Damn, he’s already heard about it. I lift my chin and make unwavering eye contact, willing him to go ahead and make fun of me. His blue eyes are bright with amusement and something else that I can’t name, and I simultaneously want to hit him and kiss him. “Well, I decided that was pretty unrealistic. I mean, if I’m going to spend my whole life figuring out who I am, it could get awfully lonely if I don’t let myself fall in love and share my life with someone, too.” 

He doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Not sure what he’s thinking, but at least he’s rubbing my thumb with his. I’m so terrified that I’ve jumped the gun that I want to backpedal and unsay every word. 

We speak at the same time.

“Just like you, pet, to skip all the. . .”

“I’m so glad I ran into y. . .”

I start to pull my hand away, but he grasps it firmly. “Wait.” He gently touches my cheek and turns my gaze back to his. “I’m glad you’re here with me, too.” My eyes fill with tears, blurring out his features, but I listen as he continues, “And I’ve been an idiot.”

I laugh, and a tear escapes my eye, trailing down my cheek. He brushes it away with a deft touch. “Me, too. I’ve been an idiot, too, and I’ve been awfully lonely without you.” 

“What say we use this nice little snowstorm as an excuse to catch up? I know there must be more to tell than going around the world scooping up slayerettes.” 

“And you with slaughtering demon hordes. Sounds very Lord of the Rings, by the way.” I’ve heard the story of what happened more times than I can count, but I haven’t heard Spike’s version, which makes all the difference.

“Well, there were swords. . . and a dragon!” 

“Get ready for tales. Lots of them.” 

We exchange grins. 

Now, he’s hesitant. “Do you mind if. . .”

“Say it.” With two simple words, I try to convey the compassion he showed me now and that he’s shown to me time and time again. 

“Do you mind if I hold you while we. . . ?” 

I hate that he still feels like he has to ask permission when I should be asking his, too. “Please.”

The relief between us is palpable and so akin to the last night in my house in Sunnydale that I almost start crying again. I find myself immediately in his arms, leaning back against his chest, and cradling one of his arms across my abdomen. He sighs behind me, a sigh that speaks volumes. We’ve been apart far too long.


	3. Part Three

The fire has long since burned out when I wake, and somehow, Spike and I have fallen asleep, curled up on the sofa after talking long into the night. His arm is heavy over my waist, and the blanket covers us in a warm cocoon that I don’t want to disturb. 

Sharing stories has left me feeling like we never parted, and I found myself appreciating the respect and affection with which he spoke of Angel and his people. Instead of feeling jealous, I’m glad that he had a new makeshift family to help him through his return even if he did give them a bit of hell in the process. He’s always been good at that. He also confessed in not so many words that he didn’t currently have someone in his life. 

I told him about Willow and Kennedy’s breakup, Xander’s complicated grief for Anya, and Dawn’s new Italian boyfriend who has no idea about the whole world of vampires, demons, slayers, and apocalypses. As usual, Spike was also more than understanding about my situation, especially my guilt about the unintended but quite negative consequences of our Sunnydale plan to turn all potential slayers into actual ones.

The only light in the room is the dim light from the frost-coated windows. Then, something niggles in the back of my mind. I grasp onto the thought. I almost forgot it was Christmas! Straight from my childhood, a feeling of excitement comes over me, and I delicately disentangle myself from Spike’s arms and tiptoe to retrieve my evergreen. 

On my way, I spy my suitcase and decide that I need to brush my teeth and freshen up. I reach into my open luggage and retrieve the toiletries bag and fresh clothing. As my hand lands on my red flannel shirt, I hear a crinkle sound like paper. Unfolding the top, I discover a small object wrapped in emerald green wrapping paper. In the low light, I make out that it’s a present from Dawn. Happiness spreads through me. First, she makes me pack warm clothes on my trip to Texas just in case, and then, she slips a Christmas gift in for me. Luckily, she’ll have presents this morning, too, even though I can’t be in Rome with her and Giles.

Setting the package under my small tree, I hurry into the bathroom to clean up. I slip on jeans and the blouse, sweep my long hair into a low bun, wash my face, and brush my teeth in record time. Then, I pick up the Christmas tree and bring it and my present back into the living area. 

Treading softly, I see that Spike is still lost to the world of dreams, one arm now over his head and the blanket askew. His features are soft and youthful. . . at peace, and I can’t help but watch him for several seconds before moving to set up the Christmas decoration on the end table. The light from the small bulbs illuminates the world we are living in, and I ease down onto the sofa. I long to trace his cheek with my fingertips, but I don’t want to wake him that way, and my emotions are tugging at my heart to do something else instead.

Bending slowly, I take a deep breath, close my eyes and lightly press my lips to his cool ones. With a little intake of air, he wakes almost as soon as I make contact, and I falter, unsure what his reaction will be. He pushes his lips against mine, matching me but going no further. My heart is thunderous in my chest, and I take a risk, deepening the affection, and he follows me, clasping the back of my head and drawing me forward so that my hands are on either side of his chest. My body is alight with flashes of desire at his touch. . . desire that I haven’t felt with him since before he earned his soul back. 

A little frightened at my boldness, I gently retreat and nudge my forehead into his, keeping my lids shut tight. “Hi.”

“Hey, yourself. What was that for?” His voice is low and laden with emotion. 

“It was a thank you for last night.”

“I remember the last time you thanked me with a kiss.” He’s, of course, referring to our first real kiss after he didn’t give Dawn away to Glory.

“Me, too.” I pause and then, “This was more real.” I hope he recognizes that I meant the kiss then, too, but that now, my affection carries more weight to me after everything we’ve been through together and apart. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. . . a long moment during which my heart, beating with such treacherous loudness, almost gives up. Then, I feel his hand cupping my cheek, and he’s kissing me again but much more deeply, infusing his message into his ministrations. I move up on my palms, and his hands move to my waist, his fingers finding my bare skin under the flannel. 

This time, he stops and notices, “You changed.”

I grin, my hair now loose around us. “I did.” 

He tries to turn his head to peer around the room. “And what’s with the little glowing lights?”

“Christmas tree. Bought it in the Denver airport. It was the last one; I had to duke it out with this lady who tried to snatch it out of my hands. Apparently, miniature Christmas trees are a hot commodity in the airport on Christmas Eve.”

He pushes up, not letting go of me and finds the Charlie-Brown-esque tree. “You almost got in a fight over *that* thing?”

I shrug. “It’s Christmas. I was feeling desperate for some festive decor since I was stuck in Colorado instead of flying back to Rome.”

“Where was it last night?” 

I nod in the direction of the bedroom. “In there. Brought it in here because, well, I didn’t have mistletoe.”

He laughs and gives me another light kiss. “Looks like you have a present.” 

“From Dawn.”

He reaches back and passes me the package. “Open it.” 

“Okay.” 

I lean my head against his shoulder as I peel away the wrapping to reveal a small round tin with a hand-painted picture of Babbo Natale filling shoes with trinkets. Dawn must have found it in one of the shops in Rome. I unscrew the lid to reveal a single folded piece of paper.

I unfold and read her message to myself, my eyes widening at her words. 

“What does it say, pet?” Spike can’t hide his curiosity.

I hand him the note. “Read it.”

Taking the proffered paper, he quickly reads Dawn’s note aloud, both eyebrows lifting as he absorbs the meaning of the words, “Dear Buffy, Merry Christmas. Tell Spike that I forgive him and hope to see him in Rome soon. Enjoy your time together, and please don’t be mad. Love, Dawn.”

I cross my arms. “Read the postscript. . . on the back.”

Spike flips the paper over. “P.S. Andrew says to tell Spike to open the package he gave him for Gabrielle. . . . What the hell?”

“This whole thing is a setup!” I stand to my feet, temper blazing. “What kind of game are they playing?! Dawn is in big trouble!” I pace a little and realize, “That’s why she insisted on the coat and the boots! And now *I* want to throttle Andrew!”

“Sodding Andrew!”

My eyes widen as the realizations hit me. “They already had Gabrielle safe in Cleveland and sent us here to. . . here to. . . what?” 

Spike strides past me and obtains the box from the corner where I stashed it yesterday. Propping it on the back of the sofa, he pulls up the sealed flaps and starts pulling out tissue paper and packages wrapped very sloppily in garish greens and reds. “What’s this?”

I can’t help myself and giggle when I see little elves printed on some of the presents. “Clearly Andrew wrapped these.” I hold up a large, lumpy looking gift. “I mean, only a guy would wrap presents like this.”

“Hey! Watch the stereotypes!” Spike protests, trying to grasp onto my humor at the situation.

“And obviously, they’re trying to set us up. . . to be together.” I rip open the package to prove my point. A bunch of silver-foil packets fall all over the sofa. I pick up one. It’s a bit squishy in my hand. I make a face. “I don’t get it.”

Spike snatches the packet out of my hand. “I know what this is. Space food. Read the labels.”

I squint at another one of the packages and notice tiny print over the bar code. “Cornbread dressing?”

Spike reads his, “Turkey tetrazzini.”

I spy a piece of white paper amidst the pile on the cushion. I read it to myself and then explain to Spike, “Andrew somehow has a friend who works for NASA, and he’s giving us Christmas dinner in the form of space food?”

Spike snorts. “Where’d he think we were going. . . outer space?”

I laugh again. “It’s so cold out there, it might as well be.”

Together, Spike and I open up the rest of the presents. Wrapping paper litters the floor, and Spike and I step back to survey the loot. There’s hot chocolate, the good kind that’s made of real flakes of chocolate, and a bag of little marshmallows. Spike identifies the thin silver thing as a space blanket, which he knows because Andrew lined Spike’s clothing with similar material before he drove out here. Apparently, vampires don’t do cold and snow very well. A white rectangular device with a screen and small wheel looks like one of the new iPod things that plays music. Dawn has been coveting one. There’s also a speaker stand of some sort that looks like it’s for the iPod. And oddly enough, there is a Ziploc baggie with a large carrot and Oreos. 

“Well, I can appreciate the hot chocolate and marshmallows,” Spike comments, his arms across his chest and one hand in the air in a thoughtful gesture.

“Andrew is *so* weird.” 

“Maybe Dawn helped plan the gifts, too?” He waves at the carrot and Oreos. “I mean, stuff for making a snowman doesn’t exactly seem like something the whelp would think up.”

“You’re right, she always wanted to play in the snow when we were kids. She had so much fun the one time it d. . . .” I suddenly think of something and start searching the room. 

“What are you looking for?” Spike asks with mirth in his tone. 

“My phone!” I bend at the waist and find my target on the floor, partially hidden near the coat rack. I flip open the device and frown. “Still no bars. I was going to call Dawn.”

“To wish her Merry Christmas?”

“No, to fuss at her! She had to really plot to make this happen. . . like for a long time!” I unsuccessfully blow a strand of hair out of my eye and then push it back with my free hand. I continue to stare at the phone’s tiny screen and try to will the little device to pick up a signal. “Grrr. The least Andrew could do with all his love of technology is send us something so we could communicate with the outside world.” 

Spike rounds the sofa and slips his hand into mine. His voice is soft and his words carry a double meaning, “What if we made the most of our time here?” He hesitates but continues, “What if we had a clean slate for the day and just saw where it took us?”

“A clean slate as in tabula rasa?” Do you mean all the times we hurt each other and miscommunicated wiped away? I meet his gaze and realize that the answer to my unspoken question is decidedly yes. “O-okay.”

He clasps my hand. “I know it won’t mean that things between us haven’t happened the way that they did. I’m not trying to deny them at all. I just want this. . . this moment.”

“Maybe our relationship is more complicated than I thought.” The sadness in his eyes isn’t the same hurt that I always used to see in the past. Not physically disconnecting from him, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on the lips, trying to wipe away his unhappiness. “I want this moment, too.” 

* * *

Although the snow has stopped falling, the sky is solid grey enough that Spike can venture outside to build a snowman with me without chancing that he will burst into flames. I also made sure we both bundled up before we went out. We definitely don’t need any frostbite. 

“So how are we going to do this?” Spike takes in the white all around us. 

I can’t help but be blown away at the breathtaking view in the dim light of day. “It’s beautiful. . . all untouched and non-slushy.” Not like the snow we got in L.A. that one time. It almost immediately melted and made everything muddy.

Here in Colorado, the snow coats the ground in all directions as far as the eye can see, weighing down tree branches, and covering roads and the normal traces of mankind’s mark on the Earth. As is becoming quite the habit, I find Spike’s gloved hand with my own. He squeezes back. A feeling of peace comes over me followed by a burst of childlike energy. 

Dropping the bag with the carrot and Oreos, I let go of Spike’s hand and race forward, my feet sinking into the soft stuff and hindering my movements. “Let’s get started,” I can’t help but sound commander-y. 

“You ever made a snowman before, pet?” I feel Spike’s gentle gaze on me as I turn back to find him.

“Nope!” I start packing the ice together against the layers of snow. My nose itches, and I rub it with the back of my glove. “Come on!”

In companionable silence, we scrape together enough snow to make a decent-sized base, a misshapen middle body portion, and a lumpy-looking head. 

I step back and study the product of our efforts with my hands on my hips. Spike has worked diligently beside me, but I think he’s found the whole exercise more humorous than anything else.

“I think he looks good,” I comment. Our snowman needs arms though. I scan the ground. Darn snow everywhere! 

“Looking for arms?”

I grin at him. “How did you know?”

He grins back, eyes alight at my happiness. “Any self-respecting snowman needs good arms.” As he heads toward the wood pile and digs around among the logs, I think about how Dana chopped off his arms. I shudder and want to hold him close. 

Moments later, he proudly produces two more slender branches with little pieces sticking off. 

“Those are perfect!” I call as he approaches. 

Spike hands me one, and we jam them into the mid-section of our snowman. Then, Spike unzips the bag and hands me the carrot. “Do the honors.”

He holds the back of the head as I ease the carrot into the more delicate sphere. Then, we attach the Oreos for eyes and mouth. 

Spike watches with a thoughtful expression on his face. Then, he snaps off four small twigs from the arms and arranges them under two of the Oreos.

“Fangs. Nice,” I comment. 

Spike smirks. “Thought he could use some. After all, snowmen are kind of like vampires.”

I cross my arms and give him a look of consternation. “In what way?”

“They’re not very fond of the sun.”

“Ha ha.”

“What? It’s true.”

I sigh happily. “We did it! My first snowman.” I’m surprisingly giddy and proud of our creation. “In honor of Dawn.”

“Glad to be a part of it.” 

I slip my arm around his waist. “Thanks.”

He hugs my shoulders. “Only for you and because the Nibblet obviously wanted us to do this. But if you tell anyone about me building a snowman. . .”

“Hey!” I shove him playfully.

Raising one eyebrow, he bends and scoops up a bit of snow to fling at my head. 

I shriek and imitate him, quickly packing a little more snow into my ball before pelting it at him. 

We are soon in an all out war with our snowman as the only witness. Snow flies everywhere until we’re covered in white ice and laughing. I can’t feel my hands and feet again, and my nose is running, but Spike kisses me anyway, deep and long. When the kiss ends, I feel lightheaded, and my quivering has way more to do with desire than the frozen temperature.

“Have to go in now, love. It’s getting a bit nippy even with the space gear.” His blue eyes won’t leave mine, and I can tell he thinks I’m the most beautiful woman in the world even though I’m sure I look like crap.

“Okay.” 

Back inside the warm cabin, Spike showers after our great snowman debacle, and I pick up my phone on a whim and briefly go outside to snap a photo of our snowman. I hurry back in, taking wood with me to reset the fireplace. 

Dressed in fresh clothing, Spike comes out of the bathroom as I’m arranging the logs. He leans over to kiss my shoulder. Then, he squats next to me. 

Running his hand over mine, he says, “Let me. You go shower.”

“Okay.” I briefly touch his cheek, and hurry to answer the beckoning call of the steamy water.


	4. Part Four

By the time I’m freshly showered, the only light is the glow from the fire Spike started in the fireplace, and he’s stirring hot chocolate in one of the pots. The scent of chocolate is heavenly, and he starts to pour the liquid into two mugs as I enter the kitchen. I gratefully accept the offered mug and head to the living room. I clean off the sofa, and Spike plops the now open bag of marshmallows on the end table before settling into a corner. Setting my mug down, I sweep my wet hair into a damp bun and snuggle up to Spike once again. He sprinkles a few marshmallows into our mugs. The fire warms us both, and I blow on the hot chocolate before sipping it. 

After a few minutes of amicable silence, Spike says, “Why do you think the Bit did all this?”

I push on one of the little marshmallows, causing it to dunk under the chocolate. “She knows how I feel about you. I talk to my sister about stuff, you know? That’s what sisters do.”

“Well, I didn’t talk to Andrew.”

I laugh. “Andrew lives in his own head. I’m sure he had some sort of fantastical story about us all mapped out. At least, he wasn’t around to make a video this time!”

“I didn’t mind the video so much,” Spike confesses.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a ham.”

After a second’s pause, he owns it. “True.” He drinks some of his hot chocolate and then says, “We should talk about what happened between us. It’s what’s getting in the way, right?”

I peer up at him, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. “Okay. About when are we talking?” 

“Sunnydale.” 

“A *lot* happened in Sunnydale between us.” 

He sighs. “You know what I mean.”

I think I do. “You have to say it.” 

He shifts his mug to his right hand and weaves his fingers with mine. “I mean before I got my soul. When you came back, and we. . .”

“Brought the building down?” I don’t know if I want to go here. This isn’t quite the way my fantasies of reuniting with Spike went. Revisiting one of the worst times of my life isn’t fun.

“Yeah.” 

I play with his fingers and think back over what I’ve thought about more than a few times since Spike burned up in the cavern under Sunnydale. Now he’s sitting next to me and patiently waiting for me to talk. “I was in a dark place. There was the trauma of coming back and the depression. I heard somewhere that depression is anger turned inward.” I shake my head. “I don’t remember where. Anyway, I think that was me. My anger at being back got turned at the wrong person. . . at the wrong people. I turned it on myself and. . . on you.” 

I study his hands. . . hands that have hit me when we were mortal enemies and hands that have been so gentle with me that I almost want to cry when I think about it. I wonder what he sees when he looks at mine.

He runs a finger over my palm. “I know that. And masochist that I was, I was willing to take it. Somewhere in my mind, I thought I was helping you.” 

“And I knew that. I knew you were trying to help me. I could see you trying all different ways to pull me out of the depression. You were kind to me. You took me out, you listened to me, you helped Dawn when she got into trouble. You tried pulling me into the darkness and you tried to get my anger out of me. Just that none of it worked. . . none of it worked because I had to figure it out for myself.”

“Now hold on, pet. I was a selfish wanker. It’s not like I didn’t have ulterior motives for helping you.” 

I shift sideways to face him. “You didn’t always. You and I both know that. Even without your soul.” 

He stares at his mug before closing his eyes, and his voice almost breaks as he references what happened between us in the bathroom, “But the thing I did to you. . .”

I sweep my fingers over his brow bone and closed eyelid. . . the eye that was black and swollen where I punched him over and over as he lay on the concrete not fighting back. “The thing I did to you, too.” I reach over and set my mug on the end table before putting my hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me. Look at me.” 

He reluctantly makes eye contact, tears softening his corneas. 

I continue, telling him what I’ve been wanting to tell him for so long, “Not all potentially traumatic events lead to lasting trauma. I’m resilient. Part of being the slayer means facing and dealing with traumatic things everyday. You quickly learn to adapt. I learned to adapt.”

“But you. . . I still added. . . you shouldn’t have to. . . I should have been your soft place to land. That’s how it started anyway. . . .” He shifts his eyes again and I let him. 

“We hurt each other in relationships. That’s life. Willow hurt Tara when she messed with her mind and was struggling with magic. She almost killed Giles, Xander, Dawn, and me. Xander left Anya at the altar in the worst way possible, and Anya hurt Xander by becoming a vengeance demon again. Giles left town when we needed him the most. I hurt you. . . physically and emotionally. The main thing is that you keep trying the best that you can with what you have. And you did. All the good you did. . . you continue to do. It outweighs the bad.”

He seems to be trying to figure out what to say next, and he finally settles on the side of levity, “Practiced that speech awhile, pet?”

I laugh. “Yeah. Guess I’ve been thinking that for a long time and looking for a time and place to say it to you.”

“The same thing applies to you, too, you know.”

Now I’m confused. “What do you mean?” 

“What you said about the good outweighing the bad. . . with me. . . in our relationship such as it was.” His expression is resolute, so I know he means what he says. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday about how I didn’t let you be there for me, but don’t you remember? You *were* there. . . after I got my soul back when the First had a hold of me. . . when I didn’t believe in myself anymore. I haven’t forgotten that.” 

I swallow past the lump forming in my throat, and now it’s my turn to avert my eyes. “Can you forgive me for how things went in the past. . . how I treated you?”

Now he sets aside his cup and cradles my hand in both of his, our touch illuminated by the golden glow of the fire. “Already have, love. A long time ago.” He pauses and then asks, “Forgive me?”

I answer him by turning toward him and gently kissing him on the lips in an echo of my first kiss this morning. “Done. And apparently, Dawn has, too.” 

His eyes lighten in relief at my answer.

Then, I kiss his cheek and slide across his lap so that my knees are pressed into the back cushion and I’m straddling him. His hands fall uncertainly on my hips, and his expression is a worried one. 

“Buffy.”

I press my lips to his neck. “Hmmm?”

“My feelings for you. . . they haven’t changed.” He wants this to mean something.

I sit back on his thighs and reply with utmost sincerity, “And mine most definitely have.”

Not taking his eyes from mine, he puts his hands up to my wet hair and loosens the bun so that he can run his fingers through the strands and arrange them around my shoulders. My heart picks up speed as he caresses my cheek. 

I turn my face into his hand and nuzzle him. 

Then, with deliberate slowness, my forearms find his chest as I lean forward to kiss his forehead, now closed eyelids, and lips. 

When my mouth finds his, he gives a small groan and follows my rhythm, intensifying the motion until I’m breathless. His hands are more sure on my hips now, and he scoots me forward so that I’m pressed closer. 

To give him permission, I thrust my tongue into his mouth, and he responds in kind, his desire becoming more evident between my legs with each moment that passes. A warm heat spreads from my core over my thighs, and my hips move involuntarily against his. 

Briefly breaking contact, I sweep my bulky sweater over my head before helping him out of his long-sleeved T-shirt. He watches me in the fire light with love shining in his eyes, and then, he trails his cool fingertips over my warm neck, bare breasts, and ribcage until I’m squirming. 

I return the favor by pulling him so close that my nipples skim his uncovered chest, and as my fingernails scrape south over his firm abdomen, he reaches under my arms and undoes my jeans, slipping the denim over my hips and down my thighs. He rocks his hips up against me, and I copy his earlier movements only with his jeans, my heart pounding and my body ablaze as he massages my breast and burrows his face in my neck. He inhales sharply as I stroke him. 

With glazed eyes, I whisper, “Please.”

We shed the remainder of our clothing, and I lay back down on the soft sofa, pulling him on top of me. He acquiesces with a growl, and together, we give in to bliss.

* * *

“That was wonderful.” I snuggle back and relish the feel of his naked body against mine. 

His arm circles my waist as he pulls the blanket over us. “It was. Nice to know we don’t have to destroy things to move mountains.” He pushes his face into my hair. “And now your hair is dry.”

I touch the waves. “It is. May have to do this more often. Saves me the blow-dry.”

He eagerly props up on one elbow. “More often?”

I glance up at him and grin. “Yes, more often.”

“So as in, this isn’t a one-time thing because it’s Christmas and we’re trapped in a cabin on a setup by the boy and your sis all of which led us to have a heart to heart about old times?” He’s keeping his tone bright, but I detect the lurking fear of rejection underneath ready to come out. 

I shake my head. “No, it isn’t. . . at least I hope. . .” 

He tickles my ribs, and I laugh and screech, twisting away and turning to face him. He stops, and as I’m catching my breath, he asks, “Hope what?”

I rub my hand over his hip. “I hope that when the snow melts and we have cell service again and we can drive away from here, you might consider maybe coming with me?” He wavers, so I keep talking, “But only if you want to. . . and don’t worry about Thia. I’ll talk with her. You won’t neglect your duties. . . just take a vacation and if you don’t like it in Rome, you can go b. . .”

He kisses me and then nips my lower lip. “Okay. If I said yes, what would stop us from going down the path of. . .”

“Badness and into destructive levels of darkness? I don’t think we will.”

He gives me a look.

“We’re each in a totally different place than before. I’m not newly alive and depressed and angry and you went and got yourself a soul. Plus, we took a long break. Maybe it was needed?” 

‘Well, when you put it that way.” He tilts his head. “Maybe our relationship is less complicated than I thought.”

I giggle. “We need to make up our minds about that.”

“We do. What if you and I. . . we still have feelings about what happened before?” He’s serious.

“If we do. . . when we do, we’ll help each other through. One day at a time, and all we have is today. We should make the most of it. All those sayings, despite being cliché, are true.” I kiss his nose and start to rise. “Speaking of today. . . it’s still Christmas, and I’m hungry. Plus, we should check out that iPod thingie.” 

I pull on my jeans and sweater and toss Spike his. “I’ve seen the slayers playing with the iPods. I’ll take a look.”

I head to the kitchen to heat up some of the space food and whatever else is in those containers in the fridge, and after getting dressed, Spike pokes around on the iPod’s buttons and messes with the speaker. Rising sound comes blasting out and goes off again. 

“Hey! This thing is pre-programmed with Christmas music.”

“What do you mean?” I discover a bowl of cranberry sauce on the second shelf of the refrigerator, and a pecan pie in another. Yum. Together with the cornbread dressing and turkey concoction, maybe we’ll have a nice dinner if the space food tastes decent.

“There’s a Christmas playlist.” 

“Well, play it!” Setting the pie and cranberry atop the counter, I poke my head around the corner to see his head bent over the tiny device, an expression of concentration on his face.

There’s a clicking noise as Spike scrolls through the songs. Then, a loud song echoes through the whole cabin. It’s definitely not a Christmas song I’ve ever heard.

“What’s that?”

Spike’s blue eyes are sparkling. “A *decent* Christmas song!”

“Never heard of it, but it sounds Christmas-y.”

“It’s a classic!” Spike hums along with the tune, closing his eyes and bobbing his head a little. It’s definitely not something I would have ever pictured him doing to this type of music. 

“By who?”

I can tell from the look he gives me that he thinks I should know the answer to this. “Slade.” 

“Ah.” The beat finds me, and I agree, “It is kinda catchy.”

Setting aside the music machine, he takes my hand and spins me around and briefly dips me before giving me a tender kiss. I smile against his lips and vow to cherish this moment. We’ll have to revisit the ghosts again, but for now, we can cherish the gift of friendship, forgiveness, and possibly renewed love. . . all thanks to Andrew, Dawn, a new slayer, a bit of snow, and a cabin in the middle of Colorado.

The end.

10-20-15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Footnote: I definitely did research for this fic…from the weather in winter in Rome to weather at Christmas in Colorado that year to what they call Santa Claus in Italy to whether they actually still made Tab in 2004 (they still make it now!) to what iPods could do in 2004 to what space food looks like and what kinds they make (yes, there’s a list on the internet and apparently, some of it actually tastes good). If anything seems off, well, I tried._
> 
> _And oh, you know how after you play in the snow/spend time outside in the cold and you run your hands under cold water and it feels warm? That’s how I imagine Spike’s hands feel to Buffy when she’s really cold._


End file.
